


Intervention

by MerKat



Series: MerKat RPs [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Violence, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Possessive Behavior, Protective!Mycroft, bottom!Mycroft, top!Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerKat/pseuds/MerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The possessive boyfriend was clearly attempting to force himself on his partner, and Mycroft found himself walking across the opera house’s lobby before he realised it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> From an [AU list post](http://themadkatter13.tumblr.com/post/93320869744/obligatory-aus-i-really-want-post%E2%80%9D) by [frostlawyer](http://frostlawyer.tumblr.com/), we chose to have some fun with: “'i'm pretending to be ur bff bc u looked VERY uncomfortable with that person at the bar hitting on u' AU”.

Greg shifted. Brandon put a hand on his waist and steered him through the crowd. Operas weren’t his normal idea of a good time, but his boyfriend had insisted they go, even bought Greg a new suit and tie for it. Not that Greg liked taking his gifts, but well, he did look good. Brandon drew him a little closer, a little tighter. “Come on now,” muttered Greg, trying to pull away from him. His boyfriend had been acting more and more possessive of late, and it was setting off alarm bells.

"Sherlock! Behave!" Mycroft's mother snapped at his younger brother, who was inappropriately attempting to suck a hickey into his boyfriend's neck. John, who was usually better at behaving in public, had only batted half-heartedly at Sherlock before being entirely too distracted by his boyfriend's amorous intentions. Mycroft barely did not roll his eyes as he looked around the room, taking in its occupants. Observations ran like gnats around the other people dawdling in the lobby, but it was the prematurely silver-haired young man and his boyfriend that caught his eye. The young man, rugby-player on his university's team and police officer in training, was standing uncomfortably stiff in his possessive partner's grasp.

Brandon kept him in place, leaning in to his ear. “Come on Greg, I paid a lot of money for that suit. And I can’t wait to take you out of it.”

“I don’t think I want you to come up tonight,” said Greg. “This evening’s been lovely, but I’m pretty tired.”

The man’s grip tightened, almost painful on his wrist. “After all I spent on you, you’re going to tell me no?”

The possessive boyfriend was clearly attempting to force himself on his partner, and Mycroft found himself walking across the opera house’s lobby before he realised it. Neither man appeared to notice his approach and he used that to his advantage, sliding a palm up between the silver-haired man's shoulder blades, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"It is a surprise to see you here," he said loudly enough for both men to hear him. The one under his palm jumped and tensed, turning towards him with wide, brown eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" the boyfriend snapped, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Mycroft Holmes. An old friend," he greeted with a nod, hand still pressed between tensed shoulders.

Greg put on a smile, going with the moment. “My! I haven’t seen you since Professor Harris’s history class,” he lied easily. “How are you?” He turned towards the newcomer and Brandon had no choice but to let him. He still kept one hand on Greg to anchor him and remind him who he belonged to.

Well, bollocks to that. Greg had already been with him too long.

He broke away from Brandon and slung an arm over the slightly taller man’s shoulder. “Do tell me what you’ve been up to?” Greg could feel Brandon radiating anger behind him.

"Coincidentally, thinking about you," Mycroft continued, trying not to stiffen at the unusually familiar contact. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone touch him outside of quick, frenzied fumblings in his office between meetings. "I had been considering looking you up recently. I had missed your... companionship." Mycroft let his voice deepen suggestively on the last word, lowering his eyelids as he made and kept eye-contact with the silver-haired man.

Greg's grin turned a little more genuine. Whoever this man was, he was quite intriguing. "We should go to the coffee shop and catch up." He'd go elsewhere of course. But Brandon didn't need to know that. 

"Good evening," Mycroft said, voice the epitome of cool politeness, before steering the man away towards the door. There was no missing the grip the possessive boyfriend kept on his rescuee's jacket until the last second. They were silent as they collected their coats, and Mycroft's umbrella, from the valet, and as soon as they were outside in the cool spring air, the silver-haired man dropped his arm and stepped away. There was a look of masked panic on his face as he looked at the streets around him, and when his eyes landed on the bus, his hands made an aborted move to his pockets. Ah. So the boyfriend had driven them and now there was no way home. Mycroft's own family had already left while he was otherwise occupied, and he quickly sent a text to his driver. "Would you like to actually have coffee with me?"

Greg turned towards him, taking in the blue eyes and stiff posture. The bloke was doing him a favor. Still, he owed him. And he'd like to get to know him. "Love to. Greg Lestrade." He offered his hand. 

For a moment, Mycroft considered not taking the offered hand, but just when his pause went on a bit longer than was polite and the kind smile began to wilt around the edges, he placed his own palm in the other's. "Pleasure," he replied as he simultaneously shook the hand and reached for the door of the car that had just pulled up to the kerb. "After you, please."

Greg briefly wondered if he should get in the car. But Mycroft had already been kinder than Brandon ever was. He got in and slid across. Posh. He really didn't belong here. He folded his hands in his lap and tried not to sully anything. It had been a very long time since he'd been around anything this nice. "Thank you."

Greg's posture was a smidgen better than anyone else he'd ever had in his car and as they merged with the traffic, he pulled the man's file up on his mobile. Gregory Yves Lestrade. British mother, French father. Bilingual and dual citizen. Lived in father's country until his death when Gregory was 10 wherein the widowed Mrs Lestrade moved herself and her only child to her home country. Minor spots of trouble on Gregory's school record the year following before ironing out. Member of school rugby team since primary school. Current classes and job searches indicate intended career as a member of New Scotland Yard. He was tucking away his mobile when the car pulled up to the cafe and he got out, holding the car door open for the other man.

"Thank you," said Greg again, wondering about his silence. He got the door of the cafe and followed Mycroft inside. He wondered why he felt nervous. He ordered something cheap and let Mycroft pay, finding them a quiet corner. He loosened his tie and watched him through lowered lashes. 

Mycroft sipped his coffee and stared back at the other man. He was good at speaking, ‘silver-tongued’ he’d been called, but when it came to actual conversation, he was as poor at it as Sherlock was. “Why chose police work as a career?” he finally asked.

Greg was surprised, and a little suspicious. "How do you know about my career?" Had this all been a set up?

“I suspected in the lobby based off your posture and the movements of your hands. And then, as I hold a minor position in the government, I have to be sure that those I interact with will not attempt to bring harm to me. I looked up your file in the car,” he explained calmly, taking another sip from his coffee.

"I see," said Greg, sipping his drink. "I should have dumped Brandon already, but he's paying half the rent." He sighed. "I know he's bad for me. And I appreciate you stepping in." He watched the sharp blue eyes. What kind of cop would he be if he couldn't even dump a shitty boyfriend?

If Mycroft wore glasses, he would have been looking over the rim of them with disappointment. “I hope he did not exhibit those behaviours prior to your cohabitation.”

Greg bristled. "Of course not. I'm not a complete idiot. It only really started after we became intimate. And what do you care anyway?" He looked towards the street, wondering if he had enough for a cheap hotel room. Maybe he could bum someone's couch for a few days. 

“Because if I plan on... _knowing_ you better, then I would like to ensure that you are not a ‘complete idiot’,” he replied coolly. Greg had been staring at his coffee, and then when Mycroft’s words registered, those eyes went wide and his head snapped up. He smiled at the other man slyly. “And as it seems you are not, I believe I would enjoy your companionship.”

Greg took a breath and swallowed. "I'm not looking to just jump into someone else's bed." No matter how handsome they might be. Besides, this ' minor government official' was way out his league. 

“Understandable,” he agreed with an incline of his head. The first test had already been passed. Many would hear of his employment and believe it an opportunity. Gregory had heard it and did not flinch, but did not throw himself at Mycroft either. He had been considering starting a relationship recently. Perhaps Gregory would do. “I believe I would still enjoy getting to know you on a less physical level. And as you are rather far from home with nowhere to sleep, you are more than welcome to stay, at minimum, the night in my guest room.”

Greg bit his lip. "Alright. I should go get clothes, but I'm not going back to my flat without backup. And the idiot wants to be a barrister."

“I will be more than happy to accompany you. And if you’d like, I can see to it that he never succeeds,” he offered, placing his now-empty cup back on its saucer.

Greg eyed him. "I'd rather he fail on his own merits. And we can try going tonight. He'll probably figure I'm staying away. Or he's off with his girlfriend. I know he was cheating on me."

“With a man and a woman,” Mycroft confirmed. A stricken look crosses the silver-haired man’s face and Mycroft was reminded of what John always reprimanded his brother with: “A bit not good, Sherlock.” But a moment later, Gregory shook himself like he was ridding himself of bad thoughts and then nodded shortly to himself.

It shouldn’t have been too surprising. Greg tended to be shitty in his choices of partners. He wondered if Mycroft could prove to a better choice. At least it was starting off better than the last few relationships. “Well then,” he said, clearing his throat. “Let’s go get my stuff.”

The car trip was just as silent as the first had been, and Gregory seemed startled when they pulled up in front of his flat. He gave Mycroft a sideways look as he got out of the car first and Mycroft followed without a look. He’d already told the man that he’d looked up his file, he shouldn’t be surprised. The walk up the stairs was wrought with growing tension and Mycroft prepared himself for the upcoming confrontation as the other man unlocked his front door and stepped inside with tight shoulders. For a moment, Mycroft considered placing a hand on his shoulder in support and then the lines of Gregory’s body told him that it would not be welcomed.

Brandon was pacing in the front room on the phone. He met Greg’s eyes a moment, then glared at Mycroft. Greg walked past him to his own room.

Putting the phone against his shoulder, Brandon followed him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting my things,” said Greg, grabbing a bag and tossing clothes in it.

“You can’t just _leave_!”

Mycroft followed the pair into the bedroom, raising an eye at the mess. From the (former) boyfriends’ clothing style, it was clear it was all Brandon’s.

“You _live_ here, Greg!” the boyfriend kept shouting as Gregory continued to move about, throwing stuff haphazardly into an overnight bag. “You’re _my_ boyfriend!”

“I’m one of your boyfriends. I know about, what is it, Natalie? And I think you’re seeing a boy too. Is that her on the phone, or him?” He took off the jacket and dropped it on the bed, followed by the tie. He knew Mycroft was standing there, but kept stripping until he was standing in his boxers and could pull on a faded pair of jeans and an old concert t-shirt. “Hope you kept the receipt.” He grabbed a couple more things and had to reach past Brandon to get something.

Brandon grabbed his wrist and twisted, angry enough to not care if Mycroft was standing there or not seeing him as a threat. Greg cried out and went to his knees.

In seconds, Mycroft’s umbrella became a weapon and it whistled through the air as he brought it down on the aggressive man’s wrist. There was a sharp crack and a cry of pain and Gregory was free, scrambling to his feet. “I do believe Gregory said he was leaving. And as he is a human, I do believe the only person he belongs to is himself,” Mycroft said calmly over the sounds of pain.

Greg resisted the urge to kick him while he was down, but he did grab the mobile. “You can do better than him.” He said to whoever was on the line and ended the call. He grabbed his bag, not caring what else he was leaving behind, and slung it over his shoulder. Once they were outside again, he winced and looked at his wrist before back up at Mycroft. “Second time tonight you’ve saved me.”

“It was no trouble. Give me your wrist.” Gregory fidgeted for a moment before hesitantly extending his hand. Mycroft was careful as he slowly massaged the limb, though the other man tensed at the initial touch. Finally though, the silver-haired man started loosening up the longer he worked the tendons. 

Greg breathed a little easier. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Mycroft glanced up at the man, trying to decide if this relationship was going to last long enough to share such personal information. “My younger brother is somewhat infamous, in at least the family, for getting into trouble. Something he perfected as a child. I was often the one to look over him and so I was the one tasked with minimising what harm befell him, typically of his own doing,” he informed.

“I’m an only child,” he said, watching Mycroft’s elegant hands. “But I would imagine you’re a very good big brother. Maybe one of these days I can repay you for this.”

“I would like to think that I am, but once he entered puberty, my brother no longer viewed me that way. As for repayment,” he slowly blinked at the man from under his lashes as he slowed and lightened his grip, moving the massage to Gregory’s more sensitive palm and fingers, “think nothing of it.”

Greg bit his lip. “You’re a regular mystery wrapped in an enigma, aren’t you?” He didn’t get Mycroft a chance to answer, just took his hand back and followed him to the car.

**

The next several weeks seemed to fly by. Greg settled himself in Mycroft’s spare room, but tried to make sure he helped out around the flat, like cleaning when he got home from school, since he tended to get home earlier then Mycroft. He’d always loved cooking, so he made sure there was a warm supper on the table most nights. Mycroft never asked him to, but he never complained either. In the late evenings they would sit in the front room and Greg would do homework or study and Mycroft would read or work on something from his job and sometimes they would hardly even speak but it felt perfect to Greg. Saturdays they’d often watch a match on the telly or Greg would take him to a nearby pub.

And Greg found himself attracted to Mycroft. Oh, he could tell that the man was careful and private. Most others probably simply saw him as a stuffed shirt. But he saw the worry that sometimes crossed his face when dealing with work, or heard him talking to his brother on the phone. 

Late one Sunday afternoon, Greg was flipping through channels on the telly when Mycroft came out of his bedroom pulling on his coat. “What’s wrong?” asked Greg, getting to his feet and automatically going for his own coat.

“Sherlock, as always,” Mycroft replied, striding quickly towards the door. “Our little ‘detective’ has rather bitten off more than he can chew, I’m afraid, even with his ‘doctor’ at his side,” he explained as he ran a mental check over what he had on him. “His kidney has suffered an encounter with a knife.” He opened the front door, holding it open and waiting for his flatmate (friend?) to pass through, only to find the man standing awkwardly by the sofa, only one arm through his coat. “Gregory?”

“You want me to come along? I mean I’m not a real cop yet.”

“I am not asking you to come with me as a cop, Gregory.”

Greg nodded and finished pulling on his coat, following him to the car. He settled in next to him. “I’m graduating in a couple months and if everything goes according to plan, I’ll be on the force by midsummer. I won’t be around as much then.”

“I don’t believe I’ve asked you yet why you chose that career path.” Over the weeks, Mycroft had gotten fairly better at small talk. At least, with Gregory he had.

Greg shrugged. “I want to help people. I lost my papa pretty young, did some volunteer work as a teen and I’ve seen enough of London to want to protect it and the people who live here.” He looked Mycroft in the eyes and moved his hand closer. “What made you go into the government?”

What made Mycroft go into the government was the power play in all of it. The satisfaction from sitting across an opponent and watching their loss play across their face.But he doubted Gregory would take that well. “It is a family profession,” he said simply.

Smiling, Greg raised an eyebrow. “It’s more than that, I suspect.” He gently ran his fingers along Mycroft’s, still watching him.

For a moment, his breath caught in his throat at the touch. Yes, there had been lingering looks and perhaps a few close brush-bys in the kitchen and hallway, but there had been no true indications that Gregory shared his attraction, which had only increased over the weeks. And so he had kept it carefully squared away, never to see the light of day. But it seems that level of secrecy was not required. Mycroft's eyes dropped down to the other man's lips. Before he could lean in, the car came to a stop in front of the hospital and regretfully, he pulled away and stepped out.

Greg knew that was nearly a kiss. Well hopefully Sherlock wouldn’t be that bad off and they could get back to the flat. What little he knew of the kid, he sounded like an utter handful. He stuck close by Mycroft as they went on in. He never did care overmuch for hospitals after losing his Papa, but things had gotten easier with the years.

"Oh, Mycroft!" his mother cried out as he walked out of the elevator and walked towards where his parents were waiting. He tolerated a hug and a kiss to the cheek before stepping back, Gregory fidgeting uncomfortably just behind him.

"I'm surprised John is not here," he said lightly, seeing no trace of his brother's boyfriend.

"Oh, he was with Sherlock when it happened. They haven't been able to part them yet," mummy explained, gesturing at the nearby door. Mycroft stepped over and peeked through the window, seeing a blond-haired form with hunched shoulders in a chair at the bed's side, both hands on the bed gripping one of Sherlock's. At least his brother looked stable, elsewise he imagined John would be in much worse a state. Hesitantly, he stepped away, finding Gregory watching him carefully, body tense.

"How is he?" asked Greg. He guessed things weren't exactly dire by the way Mycroft’s shoulders relaxed. 

"Non-lethal. He will recover to do this again another day," he replied stepping closer. Cautiously, unsure if Gregory wished to continue what started in the car, he brushed their fingers together.

Greg smiled and took his hand. There was a noise behind them. "Who is this, Mycroft?" His father was watching them, looking a little amused. 

“This is Gregory Lestrade. He is the young man who has been sharing my flat the last several weeks.” He kept his words purposefully ambiguous. He had been a stranger first, a friend second, and now he was unsure if they could be considered boyfriends. They had much to discuss over the matter when they returned home. He had not personally had any relations during their flatshare, and neither had Gregory, but that told him nothing as to whether or not the man was over his previous boyfriend. Whom Mycroft had been keeping a close eye on. Just in case.

“Well pleased to meet you.” 

Greg shook the man’s hand, then accepted a hug from his mother. He was again aware that he didn’t have a much as these folks, but they still seemed pretty welcoming. “Thank you,” he said and took Mycroft’s hand again. “I feel quite lucky.”

“As you well should!” Mycroft’s mother said. “Myc’s a good boy. He deserves someone good and solid in his life.”

Despite himself, and quite irrationally, Mycroft could feel his cheeks heating. Their mother had always been quite accepting of the fact that both of her sons were gay, though she did often, and quite loudly, lament the lack of future grandchildren.

“Yes, well, Gregory is a good man,” he agreed stiffly.

Greg looked at him and drew him away from his parents. “If you want to stay, I’ll understand completely. I can always go back to the flat and whip up supper.” Really he wanted to sit down and talk to Mycroft. It felt like a bridge had been crossed.

His mother was grinning slyly at him out of the corner of his eye. “Ah, no, I’ll return with you.” Gregory led the way out. As he passed his mother, she winked at him.

Greg got the car door for Mycroft. "I like your family."

“And it seems that they like you as well,” he replied as he slid onto the cool leather. Gregory slipped in after him, sitting rather closer than normal. In fact, he was practically melded to his side, and after a moment, a warm hand slid onto his knee. After another moment, he placed his hand delicately on top of it, letting their fingers lace together. “Physical encounters are not new to me, but I believe what we have is,” he admitted, voice soft in the car’s silent interior.

"I haven't often made the best choices in my partners. But you're not like anyone else." Greg watched him, heart skipping a beat. Then he leaned in to kiss him. 

As much as he was expecting it, when Gregory’s lips actually landed on his, he had to stop himself from jumping in surprise. The other man took his reaction in stride, following his slight jerk of his head with an eager tongue that, finally, Mycroft responded to just as eagerly. With as long time as it had been in coming, it quickly became a rough battle, with teeth and hair-ruining fingers. In no time, though neither of their hands ventured below the other’s waist, he was as hard as he had ever been, and he could only be relieved when the car stopped in front of the flat.

Greg led the way, gripping Mycroft’s hand as he pulled him into the flat. God, he needed this. As soon as the door closed he pressed Mycroft against it, taking ahold of his tie. “You’ve done things you said. Quick shags with the tea boy?” He leaned in closer. “You ever let someone else take control?”

There was a breathy sort of moan sound and with a shock, he realised it was coming from him. This was a side of Gregory he hadn’t seen, and somehow, hadn’t anticipated. Seeing the way he’d interacted with his previous boyfriend had apparently coloured his views of the student. There was a tug on his tie, a roll of an erection against his hip, and he realised he’d yet to answer. “No. No I haven’t. I usually can’t trust someone to do it properly.”

“Do you trust me, Mycroft Holmes?” Greg met his eyes, his free hand trailing along the outline of Mycroft’s cock through his trousers. He wanted him. Wanted to watch that careful control fall apart underneath him. He was in love, he knew that. And he wanted Mycroft to trust him enough for this.

“I think I can do that,” he replied, moving his feet to either side of Gregory’s creating a cradle between his thighs that the other man easily slipped into, thrusting his hips into Mycroft’s in a way that created a delicious friction against his cock.

Greg ground against him, taking his hands and pinning them above his head. He heard Mycroft’s breath catch and nipped his lower lip. He switched the wrists to one hand, and with the other, he loosened Mycroft’s tie and pulled it free.

Before he realised it, quite distracted by Gregory’s tongue as he was, his tie was wrapped around his wrists. As it was tightened and knotted, he gasped, breaking away from the kiss and head dropping back to look up at where surprisingly strong and capable fingers were keeping his hands pinned to the wall. Apparently, his lack of tongue-on-tongue interaction was not an issue because that hot mouth immediately affixed itself to his jaw and began moving down his neck. The air of the flat was cool against his skin as deft fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, and second later, he was writhing under the man’s affectionate attentions.

“You’re so hot,” breathed Greg against this skin. He opened the man’s belt and flipped Mycroft over, grinding against his arse. “I want to fuck you,” he growled. “God, Mycroft, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. Imagining the way you’d look underneath me.”

Mycroft moaned at the other’s words, rolling his hips back into the erection thrusting against the crease of his arse. “Why imagine when we can experience?” he replied breathlessly. 

Greg let go of his wrists for a moment, keeping him in place with a strong hand between his shoulder blades as he reached for his coat. He pulled out lube and a condom. “Yeah, I’m prepared.” Greg’s voice was rough with desire. He pushed down Mycroft’s trousers and pressed slicked fingers against him, grabbing his bound wrists again before leaning in down to suck a hickey into his shoulder.

“Ah!” As soon as the sound left his mouth, Mycroft bit his lip to prevent any more unauthorised noises from escaping. Somehow, it was different, not being the aggressor in these situations. The teeth and tongue and suction on his shoulder made him want to close away his vulnerable neck at the same time it made him want to expose it, and when that mouth began to move towards his throat, dropped his head back, opening himself to the other. The finger in him was firm, gentle, and insistent, pressing in and pulling out in a pace that wasn’t quite quick, but neither was it slow. As soon as teeth pressed into the skin over his jugular, a second finger pressed in and he forgot about the control he was exorcising over his voice box. “Gregory!”

“Relax,” whispered Greg. “I’ve got you.” He could feel Mycroft trembling underneath him and let go of his wrists to squeeze his hip. This was incredible and it was taking all he had not to just pound into him. Instead he worried his flesh in his teeth, feeling him loosening for him. Letting go of his hip he loosened his own belt, knowing Mycroft could hear it and then his jeans dropping to the floor.

Withdrawing his fingers, he pressed himself against Mycroft, soothing a hand down his side and trying to go slow.

He had to hold back a whimper at the loss of those fingers, but a moment later, he heard the rip of a condom wrapper and he knew he was about to be filled with something a great deal more satisfying. Sure enough, the thick head of a cock was pressing against his hole and he let out a low moan as it slowly pressed inside.

Greg's words failed him as he moved deeper, resting his forehead on Mycroft's shoulder as he adjusted to the tight heat. The official tried to push back but Greg kept him firmly in place, finally starting to the thrust. It had been a long time since he'd had a partner willing to let him top. And this was amazing. This man was amazing in so many ways.

Gregory would not allow him to _move_ and he was going _so slow_. "Gregory!" he gasped, a plea. He was so restricted; he couldn't move anything except his head and his fingers, scrambling for a hold against the door's surface, and it was killing him. And yet... his neglected cock had never been so hard, had never leaked so much. He never would have thought that he would be so aroused by himself being the one restrained. Or perhaps it was just Gregory whom he-- "AH!"

Groaning as Mycroft clenched around him, Greg hit that spot again and again until a whimper broke from his lover’s lips. Now he reached around and squeezed his cock, fucking him into his hand and going faster. He felt Mycroft shake underneath him a moment before he came, squeezing around him again. Greg thrust in hard and deep and held it there until the orgasm started to fade. Then he began again, faster, chasing his own orgasm, keeping him pinned, thrilling in the moment.

His entire body was humming pleasantly in its post-orgasmic state as Gregory continued to use him in search of his own release. And Mycroft was happy to let him, even as uncomfortable as laying against the door would be in a moment. The hand around his hip was bruising, and then the one that had stroked him to completion pulled off of him, the forearm pressing against his shoulders, forcing his chest flush to the door and arching his hips up. There was an aborted groan behind him as the cock inside him sped up for a few thrusts before stilling, teeth affixing themselve to the delicate skin of his neck as a low moan breathed across his goose-pimpled flesh.

Slowly Greg opened his eyes. “God,” he mumbled, pulling back a little and wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s waist, tugging them both backwards until they could tumble onto the couch. Greg smiled and nuzzled his neck, happy and content. Now he just needed to not screw this up.

Mycroft felt a little dazed and a lot satisfied and quite comfortably warm. Though not completely comfortable. His hands were still bound and, with a silent huff, he picked at it with the deft, delicate tips of his fingers until it unraveled and fell to the floor. Strong hands slid down each arm, stopping when they got to his sensitised wrists, massaging them in a suspiciously familiar way. "Where did you learn to do that?" he murmured, voice slurred in his relaxation.

Where do you think?” Greg kissed his cheek. He took a good look at Mycroft’s bared chest, admiring the fuzzy line of faintly red hair and the splash of freckles across his skin that looked like constellations. His softening cock lay in the curls of hair that were barely visible in his trousers. Next time, he definitely had to get the man naked. He wanted to explore every inch of skin with his hands and tongue and teeth. And he was quite confident there would be a next time.

"I think a well-to-do gentleman taught you how to do it on your first date together," he replied, eyes closed and smiling slyly.

“Was that a date?” teased Greg. “Well I suppose we did have coffee.” He kissed the top of Mycroft’s head. “Take a nap. When you wake up, I want to get you naked in my bed.”

"Yes, officer," Mycroft replied, relaxing into the warmth and strength wrapped around him.

“Not an officer yet,” muttered Greg, even though Mycroft was already asleep. He closed his own eyes and drifted off himself.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave us a review, and don't forget to drop by tumblr to say 'hi' to [Mer](http://merindab.tumblr.com/) and [Kat](http://themadkatter13-fanfiction.tumblr.com/).


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